


Generous Souls

by mogwai_do



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Joe is left suddenly bereft, he turns to his closest friends. Friendship's just another form of love really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Generous Souls

Joe Dawson growled several distinctly unflattering comments under his breath, all aimed at the owner of the finger that was currently leaning on his doorbell. Amy was due for dinner in half an hour and he hadn't even started cooking yet, maybe a take-out would be acceptable. He yanked the door open, half-expecting to see one of his Immortal friends on the other side with another crisis. Although to be fair, since O'Rourke, the number of challenges had died down considerably - it made for a dull, but altogether more relaxing life as the Highlander's Watcher. It was a change he thought he could get used to.

The man on the other side of the door was no-one he recognised, however. A badge was held up briefly for his inspection. "Joseph Dawson?"

"Yes?" There was something in the man's tone of voice, or perhaps his expression, that sent tendrils of ice stealing along Joe's nerves.

"Inspector Travis," he introduced himself. "May I come in?" Unusually polite for the police force.

Joe stepped aside to let him past and gestured towards the small living room. The inspector took the offered chair and waited until Joe was seated before speaking again. "Mr. Dawson, I'm afraid I have some bad news..."

*****

The lift stopped on the top floor of the dojo with its usual jarring abruptness, but Joe didn't feel it. The gate rose with a noisy clatter of old iron, but Joe didn't hear it. The Highlander on the other side greeted him with a cheerful smile, while the World's Oldest Immortal dried dishes, but even though these were the people he had come here to see, Joe barely registered their presence.

Duncan's smile faded as he noticed his friend's abstraction and he glanced over his shoulder at his friend and lover, but Methos was already putting aside the tea towel, his expression concerned.

"Joe?" Duncan ventured. "Would you like to come in?" 

It went without saying, but it took the words to break the spell that shrouded his friend. After another moment's hesitation, Joe stepped out of the lift cage and began to make his careful way across the loft to the couch. Methos met him halfway; he made no move to aid Joe's slow progress, but he hovered close like a worried shadow. A quick glance over his shoulder to Duncan and he silently mouthed the word "Drink." 

Duncan nodded as he shut the gate and moved into the kitchen to find a bottle of scotch and three tumblers. This didn't look good.

Joe sat heavily on the couch, not caring that the depth of the seat made it extremely difficult for him to get up again. Absently, he felt the couch dip again as Methos seated himself at the other end, for once not immediately sinking into his usual boneless sprawl. Joe watched Mac walk towards them from the kitchen area with a bottle, feeling like he was starting to reconnect with himself for the first time since the Inspector's unexpected visit.

Mac sat in the chair opposite and placed three glasses and a bottle on the small coffee table. Joe watched as the Highlander poured generous amounts of the amber liquid for each of them and accepted the first glass. No ice - that was good, he didn't want anything to dilute the alcohol. Joe took a sip, feeling the burn of it on his tongue and in his throat, and watched as Mac offered the second glass to Methos. The old Immortal took it, his expression softening slightly as he met Mac's eyes.

It was good to see that his two friends had managed to overcome the difficulties that had plagued their friendship. That they had become lovers was obvious to the Watcher. For one, Mac was completely incapable of hiding the fact that he was in love; and while Methos was an expert at concealing his thoughts and feelings, he had made no secret of the fact that he had been living with Mac since the return to Seacouver, nearly a year ago. They hadn't said anything to him, but neither had they tried to hide the fact, for which Joe was grateful, especially since he knew how leery the pair of them were about his chosen profession. Together the two of them were the closest friends he had and now the nearest thing to a family he had left. Abruptly, the scotch lost all taste. 

"Joe?" Adam's voice was quiet, sympathetic, as if he already knew, but that wasn't possible because Joe hadn't told them yet.

"I... I had a visitor about half an hour ago," his voice sounded odd, detached, even to him. "Inspector Travis." Funny how easy it was to remember details like that. "I was waiting for Amy to arrive. We've been having dinner together, once a month, her place or mine. We... We've been trying to patch things up between us - even managed to be civil to each other on a regular basis. She was on her way over tonight." Joe stopped for a moment just to breathe. He could do this; God knew he'd been on a first name basis with death since Vietnam. He'd killed then and since, and nearly died himself more times than he cared to think about. But this was different - so different. This was the only family he had. Had - past tense.

Duncan exchanged a silent look with Methos while Joe obviously struggled to get a handle on things. Methos' expression was saddened, as understanding as Duncan knew his own to be. They both had a very good idea of where this was leading - they'd both been there themselves too many times in the past. Patiently, they waited for the rest of the story.

"The roads have been pretty icy this last week. Car coming the other way skidded on some black ice and lost control. Collided with Amy's car. Driver died on impact." Why was it so hard to breathe? Why couldn't he bear to look at his friends? "So did Amy." The silence was crushing, suffocating. Joe ached all over; his eyes hurt, they were so dry, but he didn't dare blink for fear that the tears that threatened would drown him.

A warm hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. When had Adam moved so close? Joe raised his head to see his friends; Mac's face showed the kindness he had come to expect of this Highland son. "Joe," but Methos' voice was the revelation, the deep compassion he had always suspected the old Immortal was capable of, was plain in the soft tones. Joe turned to meet a pair of green eyes far too ancient for so young a face and they held such understanding.

A sob escaped on a half-choked breath and Duncan watched as Joe collapsed against the ancient Immortal sobbing loudly, the control that had got him this far finally deserting him. Methos appeared to take it all in his stride, wrapping long arms around the seemingly older man and rocking him gently, comforting him as one would a child. Duncan caught his lover's eyes briefly before Methos turned to Joe; seeing the slender, young-seeming man comfort someone who appeared to be both older and stronger, sparked one of those moments of perfect clarity where obvious truths become apparent.

Methos made a point of living in the shadow of others' strength, yet it was always him to whom they turned for comfort, and always he gave it. Methos' strength was hidden, understated, but it was more than enough to support them all. His strength was the foundation others relied upon in order to rebuild their lives and dreams. Duncan wondered that it had taken him so long to see it when he had relied on it so many times himself.

Joe's full-throated sobs had eased into heartbroken tears of grief and loss, but still he clung to the old Immortal, who responded by pressing a soft kiss into the mortal's hair. It was a strangely motherly gesture, yet entirely independent of actual gender, and Duncan felt glad that Methos was here for Joe. He would have offered the same comfort himself, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, but there had always been something more... personal to the old Immortal's touch.

Duncan knew from his own experience that Methos was a surprisingly empathic creature, though he hid it well beneath his cynical façade. He was sure his lover could do a better job of looking after Joe than he could himself. Memories of his own comfort in the Ancient's arms, after Ahriman, after O'Rourke, brought with them other thoughts and he looked again to the pair on the couch seeing possibilities he'd never previously imagined. It was fairly obvious that Joe was in no state to be left alone tonight, but there was only the one bed in the loft...

Driven to sudden movement by the thoughts, Duncan rose quickly and gathered the glasses, gently taking the empty glass from Joe's hand where it was still held forgotten. His mind churned with thoughts and feelings as he rinsed out the tumblers and put the scotch away. Sorrow, compassion, possession and love all combined in an uneasy mix of emotions. Duncan looked again at Methos holding Joe close on the couch and the confusion eased, like pulling on the one string that unravels the knot. This was Methos, his friend and lover, and this was Joe, his closest mortal friend who was hurting so badly. There was no conflict.

Methos looked up then and met his eyes, and Duncan knew that his thoughts had travelled the distance between them, swift and silent. And he knew his reading of the situation had been correct when Methos smiled softly, a faint concern visible in questioning green eyes. His decision already made, Duncan crossed the room on quiet feet to stand in front of his lover. 

"I trust you," he mouthed silently, holding the green eyes and hoping Methos took it as it was meant. The look Methos gave him in return was almost enough to make up for the fact that Duncan was going to be spending the night alone.

"I'm going to go check on the bar, make sure it's closed up properly tonight." He said it for Joe's benefit, but Duncan very much doubted that the Watcher was really aware of what was happening around him. Duncan turned to fetch his coat, but his lover's hushed "Duncan" turned him back. He met Methos' eyes and followed their gaze to the glazed pottery bowl on the counter; it held the keys to the old apartment that Methos rented, but hadn't slept in for months. Duncan picked up the keys and turned back to his lover for confirmation, receiving a smile and a nod. For some reason, the fact that his secretive lover had offered Duncan the personal space he had been so adamant about keeping, warmed him right through. Fairly sure that kissing Methos senseless was probably not appropriate under the circumstances, Duncan settled for a smile. Then he quickly and quietly collected his coat and sword and took the stairs out.

*****

Methos watched Duncan go, feeling absurdly proud of his lover's perception and acceptance. The Highland child had grown a lot since Methos had first met him, but he remained quintessentially Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, for which the Eldest Immortal was eternally grateful. When Duncan's Presence finally passed out of his range, Methos turned his full attention back to the weeping mortal in his arms.

Eventually the tears dried and the sobs became laboured breathing and Joe came back to his surroundings. The feel of a warm, solid chest covered by damp cotton, against his cheek brought him back even quicker, and then he felt the strong arms wrapped around him, their warmth seeping into his bones. Ashamed at having broken down in front of his friends, Joe pulled away, wiping roughly at his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Adam. I didn't mean..." He was mumbling, cold and tired and numb.

"Ssh," Adam interrupted gently. "It's okay."

For a moment, Joe wanted to protest that he wasn't a child and things weren't okay, but Adam's tone was soothing not patronising and he realised a little ruefully that, by comparison, he was a child.

Adam stood and his hands slipped under Joe's forearms and it took the mortal a moment to realise that Adam was trying to help him to his feet. Too tired to think, he let himself be pulled upright and led across the loft to the bed where he was pushed to sit. Adam stripped back the top sheets with one sharp tug and then his hands moved to the buttons of Joe's shirt. It took another long moment for Joe to realise what Adam intended.

"Adam, I can't... It's your bed," he protested.

Adam smiled, cheerfully adamant, "You can and you will. You _know_ you're not fit to make it home - I've no idea how you even made it here in the first place." Joe was surprised to find that he didn't know either and, as Adam had known would happen, the pragmatist in him had to concede the point.

"But you and Mac..." Joe hesitated, after all they had never actually _said_.

Adam's smile softened, "Mac left ten minutes ago, Joe." Joe glanced around, startled to realise it was true. "And I'm quite capable of surviving a night on the couch," Adam continued. His hands returned to the buttons, patiently determined, and Joe gave in; he really couldn't compete with 5,000 years of stubborn, at least not tonight.

Too drained to care, Joe let Adam undress him, watching the nimble fingers as if from a great distance. Somehow he was not at all surprised that the self-proclaimed selfish bastard had taken on the role of carer so easily. Adam didn't look at him, all his attention appeared to be focused on the little buttons, but Joe could tell that the Immortal was aware of every breath the Watcher took.

His mind hazed with exhaustion and grief, Joe wondered why his subconscious had chosen this unlikely man to lean on, rather than Mac, to whom he was marginally closer and certainly knew more about. But then he had always assumed that somehow Methos knew what it was like to have children, whereas he knew for a fact that Mac did not.

"You've had children, haven't you," Joe was mildly appalled that he had actually voiced that not-quite statement.

Green eyes flickered up briefly to meet his own for a moment before returning to where the old Immortal worked on his belt. "Yeah," Methos' voice was soft and sad, almost wistful. "Of course I wasn't their biological father, but somehow that never felt like it made any difference when they died."

Joe listened, curious despite himself to hear something of the Ancient's life.

"The last was about 200 years ago. A little girl we named Elizabeth," Methos straightened up and looked into the distance, seemingly seeing into the past.

"What happened to her?" Joe couldn't stop himself from asking, though he knew what the answer would be.

Methos turned back to meet Joe's eyes, "The same as happened to all of them - she died." Adam abruptly returned his attention to undressing the mortal, his hands no less gentle than before.

A tug at his belt loops prompted Joe to lift his hips off the bed so that Adam could pull his pants off. He felt an odd relief when Adam did not so much as blink at finally seeing the prostheses he had always known were there. With surprising deftness, Adam unfastened the moulded plastic that had served as Joe's legs since Vietnam and carefully set them aside. Joe found himself absently wondering how many times Methos had played doctor as warm hands massaged the strain from his thighs with a healer's touch. Unprotesting, he let himself be laid down and tucked in. It was somehow easier to accept this care from the old Immortal than from the Highlander and, try as his tired mind might, Joe couldn't pin down why that was.

Then Methos began to close down the loft, turning off the lights and locking the door, while Joe tried to suppress the shivers that assailed him in the absence of simple human touch. He watched as Adam dropped a pillow and blankets onto the couch and then moved to the bedside, studying the Watcher. Joe tried valiantly to stop shivering, but it only seemed to make it worse and he wasn't really surprised when Adam shook his head tolerantly and began to strip, quickly and efficiently. When he was down to only his boxers, Adam climbed into the other side of the bed, as Joe had known he would. Long arms wrapped around his waist and he felt the solid length of Adam's body press against his back, sharing warmth.

Joe lay there, staring into the darkness, as the shivers slowly subsided, trying to will his mind to give in to the exhaustion that had already claimed his heart and soul. Long, silent minutes passed and eventually Joe had to speak, "Adam, I can't sleep."

"I know," Adam's reply sounded, close to his ear.

"I close my eyes and all I can see is Amy. All I can think about is how I messed up both our lives."

Adam's arms tightened, pulling him a fraction closer, "I know." 

And for some reason Joe believed it. The thought was comforting and, enfolded in Adam's arms, he felt the first real warmth since he had answered the door to Inspector Travis. Joe felt his cock stir in response to the physical proximity and his runaway emotions and he tried to will it to subside. Adam was a friend, a good friend, one of the best, but he'd never considered the old Immortal this way before. Not on his own account anyway.

Despite his best efforts, Joe felt his cock fill and harden and he tried to pull away from the other man, horribly embarrassed. For a moment, he couldn't move, but then Adam's hold loosened and he was able to create a little space between them.

"It's okay, Joe," Adam's tone held understanding and Joe was glad Adam couldn't see his face as he felt his cheeks burning. "It's a natural reaction to death - you know that as well as I." 

Joe muttered something unintelligible, even to himself, and rolled onto his back to look at the Immortal next to him.

In the darkness of the loft, Adam was a pale blur as he propped himself up on an elbow to look down at the Watcher. "It doesn't bother me, if that's what you're worried about," Adam's tone was perfectly reasonable, but Joe couldn't meet those knowing eyes. Instead he found himself studying the elegant line of Adam's long neck as it curved down to join surprisingly broad shoulders and a well-defined chest. Joe realised that Adam's baggy clothing was as much camouflage as personal preference, which would have been fine if he had been looking in the context of his job as a Watcher, but he hadn't, he'd been studying him on a much more personal level. Suddenly realising that Adam was aware of his not-so innocent regard, Joe almost gave himself whiplash wrenching his eyes away from the object of their fascination.

Strong, slender fingers touched his cheek and gently, but irresistibly turned him back to meet dark eyes. "Whatever you need, Joe," Methos said softly and seriously. Joe held that gaze for a moment more before hesitantly reaching out to trace callused fingers over a sharp cheekbone. He watched curiously as Adam leaned into the touch, long lashes hiding too-perceptive eyes. The intensity of the desire that simple movement triggered, shocked a gasp from him. Methos' eyes opened, "Joe?"

Joe met the concerned look with one of bewildered realisation, "I think... I think I need this..." And he did; he wanted to explore this... _thing_ between them; more than curiosity, but less than love. Then again, maybe it was a kind of love, and that thought made the unexpectedly intense desire more acceptable. But he had no idea what he was getting into...

"Don't worry, Joe," Adam spoke seemingly direct to the heart of his fears. "I know what I'm doing."

"Well, I'm glad one of us does," Joe replied wryly, strangely set at ease despite himself.

Methos flashed a bright grin and his "Trust me" was lost in the kiss that followed.

Joe was shocked into immobility by the first touch of Adam's lips to his, but Adam didn't seem at all bothered by his lack of response. He lightly traced Joe's lips with the tip of his tongue, politely asking entrance, and without really thinking about it, Joe acceded to the request. He let Methos coax a response from him and was surprised by the strong sense of connection such a simple thing as a kiss could engender. Methos was there for him in whatever way he needed him.

Eventually Methos drew away and Joe found himself moving his tongue around a suddenly very empty mouth, trying to recapture the elusive taste of the Ancient Immortal, while Methos waited patiently for Joe's response.

"You're... very good at that," it was a stupid thing to say, but he really couldn't think of anything else.

Methos grinned, "I've had a lot of practice," he replied.

Practice. Mac. Joe saw Methos register the change in his expression.

"What?" Only curiosity, no demands or expectations in that voice.

"What about Mac?" Joe felt ridiculously guilty for one stolen kiss that he hadn't even initiated.

Methos smiled in comprehension, "He practically endorsed it." Joe raised a sceptical eyebrow and Methos had the grace to look at least a little shame-faced. "Well, alright, he didn't _endorse_ it exactly." Methos held his eyes seriously, "But he understands. Duncan's been around long enough to know better than to waste time with friends like yourself."

Joe was profoundly grateful that the other man had refrained from saying mortal. For such a frequent pain in the ass, Methos was demonstrating a surprising amount of tact. But then he had come to expect the unexpected from the Ancient Immortal.

"You know the noble Highlander, Joe. He appreciates the opportunity to help his friends; even if the only way he can do it is by bowing out." Methos tilted his head to the side, assessing how much of this the Watcher grasped. "I wouldn't have minded if you had looked to him instead."

Joe nodded his understanding, even though he wasn't entirely sure he did understand, but Adam believed what he was saying and he trusted Adam, his own mind wasn't functioning well enough to make any assessment of the Highlander's motivations and likely reactions at this stage. With a strange sense of fatality, he placed himself entirely in Adam's capable hands, knowing that he wasn't up to refusing what was being offered - comfort, solace, friendship.

Adam was waiting patiently again for Joe to come back from his thoughts and Joe watched his friend in turn, seeing understanding, acceptance, and the simple offer of companionship. As Joe studied the pale features his neglected erection took the opportunity to remind him of his need and Joe was suddenly hyper-aware of the warm, and above all willing, body lying so close to him. He swallowed with difficulty and licked suddenly dry lips, realising that his body had made its decision regardless of what his mind might think. "Whatever I need?"

"Whatever you need," Adam repeated in confirmation.

Joe swallowed again, "I think I need this - you."

Methos' smile was simple and, to Joe’s immense surprise, beautiful, "Then you have me."

*****

Warm, silken skin beneath his fingers, pressing against him. It had been a long time since Joe had last made love, too long, but none of those long ago lovers had had anything like the skill of this one incredible creature. Drained by his grief, his control still fragile, it was so easy to be seduced into pleasure, trusting in Adam to make it all okay.

Gentle kisses arousing him, soft touches relaxing him, Adam loving him and telling him without words to accept what was freely offered, that there were no strings attached. It was so very easy to be swept along and let Adam do whatever he felt best. And it felt the best.

Joe drifted on a sensual tide and before he was ever really aware of the specifics, Adam was straddling his hips, slowly easing down, impaling himself on Joe's cock. Awareness returned with a rush; he'd traded hand-jobs, even occasional blow-jobs, during his tour in the war, but never this. Joe was shocked at how easy it was and how intense. Hot and tight and perfect. Better than perfect when Adam began to move, rocking slowly, cradling Joe within himself.

In too short a space of time, Joe found himself struggling for breath, clinging to his partner and the certainty of his continued existence, as if it were the only thing that could keep him from drowning in a sea of loss. His hands clutched the pale skin so hard they left bruises, but he couldn't stop, and he was grateful for the mouth that pressed to his, soothing even as the ancient Immortal's movements sent his need spiralling higher.

Then with a hoarse cry he was coming, flying, falling, feeling release spread through his limbs like wildfire. Lost in his own pleasure, Joe was only peripherally aware that Adam was coming as well, spreading sticky warmth over them both.

Joe came down slowly, feeling his muscles relax and sleep beckon as seductively as any lover. Dimly, he realised that Adam was cleaning them both with a warm cloth, the motions were soothing and they took away what little resistance to sleep remained.

*****

The sound of the lift starting up intruded on a dreamless sleep and wakefulness came by slow degrees. The warm weight of another sleeper was tucked against his side, head resting on his shoulder, one arm draped over his stomach. It had been so long, Joe had forgotten the simple pleasure of waking up next to someone, sharing warmth and comfort. He could still feel the sex-induced lassitude in his muscles and that too was a forgotten pleasure. There weren't many people interested in sleeping with a cripple.

Joe's arm had curled around his partner's shoulders, holding them close through the night. Broad shoulders, too broad for a woman. Joe opened his eyes and strained to see the face buried against his shoulder, to confirm or deny what his resurgent memories were telling him.

The light in the loft was dim with a grey morning, but it was no hindrance to his vision. Short, dark hair, sleep-tousled and sticking up every which way. He shifted a little and saw pale skin and a nose that left no doubt as to the sleeper's identity. "Methos," he murmured, not quite sure what he felt about it.

"Y'okay?" the soft, sleepy tones startled him.

"I..." Joe found himself ambushed by the truth. "Yeah, I'm okay," there was wonder and relief in his words. The grief was still there, it would be for a very long while, he thought, but it had lost the jagged edges that had torn at him so brutally last night.

A smile, "Good." Then the dark head lowered back down as Methos made himself comfortable again. "Me too," he added almost as an afterthought.

Joe found himself lulled by the old Immortal's easy acceptance and was just drifting back to sleep himself when the lift reached the top with a clang, bringing reality with it. The Highlander was home. And he was naked in the man's bed with his lover.

Joe had rarely felt such absolute panic before in his life. He glanced quickly towards Methos and was shocked to see that neither the noise, nor the Highlander's Presence appeared to have woken him. He looked up, knowing there was no way he could possibly make the scene appear to be anything other than what it was, and found that Duncan had already crossed most of the distance to the bed.

To Joe's enormous surprise though, Mac wasn't shouting, instead his eyes were fixed on his sleeping lover and he was smiling fondly. He raised a finger to his lips when Joe would have spoken, and then Mac carefully sat on the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes from Methos' face, almost completely ignoring Joe's presence. Joe found himself following the Highlander's intense gaze and realised he could appreciate now what had obviously captivated the Scot. He had never had the opportunity to see this side of Methos before; the ancient, cynical Immortal looked absurdly young and innocent in sleep.

Duncan reached across Joe and stroked a gentle finger over a prominent cheekbone. Long lashes fluttered open briefly and a smile curved the mobile lips, before it apparently became too much effort and the green eyes closed again as Methos went back to sleep, never a hitch in his breathing.

Duncan finally met Joe's worried eyes and broke the rather unsettling silence that had descended upon the loft since his return. "I wouldn't worry about him; he normally sleeps through my comings and goings. Don't ask me how he knows it's me," he forestalled the obvious question. "He won't wake up until he wants to." Duncan's smile was affectionate as he stood, "Come on, I'll make you breakfast."

Joe was a little dumbfounded as he watched the Highlander move into the kitchen and begin to pull things from the fridge. He knew from the Chronicles and his own observations that Mac wasn't a particularly possessive lover, but he did have some very definite ideas about how a relationship should be and he had always reacted very badly to anything he saw as betrayal. So either Duncan was being unbelievably obtuse about the evidence he had been presented with on his return to the loft... or some of his ideas had undergone a fairly fundamental shift without Joe ever noticing. Joe wasn't entirely sure which explanation he preferred.

After a couple of minutes Joe realised that Mac was taking care not to look in his direction during his breakfast preparations. Grateful for the courtesy, Joe extricated himself from the tangle of the ancient Immortal's long limbs and began to dress. He was strangely touched by the consideration that had prompted Adam to leave all of Joe's clothes neatly folded in a pile within easy reach of the bed, the prostheses propped next to them. Simple acts of thoughtfulness like that were something Joe placed enormous value on.

With the ease of long practice Joe dressed and buckled on his prostheses. Once again fully clothed and only marginally more rumpled than he had been when he had arrived the night before, Joe joined Mac at the kitchen counter. He couldn't help but feel distinctly apprehensive about the prospect of talking to the Highlander over breakfast.

The breakfast he was presented with was rather more substantial than Joe was used to, but he was hungry enough to appreciate it. The silence lengthened while he ate, but he really didn't know what to say. Mac had to know, or at least strongly suspect, what had happened and Joe felt he should offer some sort of apology. But if the Highlander hadn't made the connection... Joe could feel the potential for disaster loom large and, try as he might, he couldn't think of any way to break the silence without triggering it.

Duncan watched his Watcher eat breakfast, rather amused by the expression on Joe's face, though he knew it was unfair of him - obviously the man was expecting him to blow up at any second. He poured mugs of coffee for them both and took a seat at the counter, nodding towards the still sleeping Immortal. "It always surprises me how young he looks when he's asleep."

Joe looked at the old Immortal still wrapped up in the bedclothes, grateful to Mac for the opener. "Yeah, go figure."

Duncan grinned at Joe's response, glad that his friend seemed to be regaining at least some of his balance.

"Mac... About last night, I..."

"Joe," Duncan interrupted, forestalling his friend's stumbling attempt at an explanation where none was necessary. "It's okay. Really."

Joe was looking at him as though he'd sprouted horns or started speaking Swahili; Duncan didn't know whether or not he should be offended by that. But then again, he had to admit, even if only to himself, that maybe a year earlier Joe's reaction would have been all too understandable. He didn't really know how to explain his relationship with the Eldest Immortal, or even if it could be explained. Methos was just... Methos.

Despite an extremely rocky start, the Highlander had finally come to accept the Ancient for who and what he was - a loyal friend, who had remained so even when Duncan had been much less than a friend to Methos. Duncan knew he couldn't be possessive with the ancient Immortal, not if he wanted to keep him, but he had discovered that if he didn't try to curtail Methos' freedom, then the old Immortal would be everything he wanted him to be. It had taken him a long time to learn to trust Methos again, but he knew it was a decision he would never regret. It hadn't been so hard to leave Joe in Methos' eminently capable care and Joe's obvious improvement this morning spoke eloquently of it having been the right choice.

All the same, Duncan wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what had happened during the night that had produced such results. He had enough self-awareness to realise that would probably strain his hard-won acceptance a little _too_ far.

Joe's expression still remained uncertain though and Duncan really didn't know how to convince him. 'No, Joe, you're my friend; I don't mind if you fuck my lover. Well, I do, but only if you tell me about it.' Somehow that lacked a certain style, not to mention logic. 'I love him; I have no choice but to trust him - that whatever he does, he still loves me, because I can live with anything but the thought of losing that.' Now that didn't make much sense even to him, not to mention how pathetic it sounded.

Duncan sincerely wished Methos... his _lover_ , would wake up and not just because the old Immortal was a damned sight better with words than a Scottish barbarian, but because his thoughts were beginning to sound a little too much like he was trying to convince himself.

Joe watched Mac's eyes drift again to Methos, as if seeking support or reassurance from the somnolent Immortal. "He has a generous soul," Joe had no idea where that had come from, but it felt right and Duncan turned back to him with a grin.

"Bite your tongue, Joseph Dawson. If he hears you slandering his reputation like that..." Duncan let it trail off warningly, but the sparkle of humour in his eyes belied the threat.

Joe refused to be put off, however; he had seen a side of the ancient Immortal that he had only ever suspected before, and he was damned well going to get someone else to admit it existed too. He wasn't sure why it felt so important to him, but it was. "He's a good friend too," Joe spoke almost to himself as he reflected on the night before.

That must have struck a chord because Duncan sighed in agreement, "Yeah, one of the best - even when he has every reason not to be."

Joe didn't really need that comment explained; Kronos, Keane, Byron, O'Rourke. Mac had not reacted at all well when he had discovered a few of the less savoury aspects of the man's long past. Joe winced inwardly as he acknowledged his own less than tolerant reaction to coming face to face with the Ancient's past in the form of Morgan Walker. Although it had to be said that Methos seemed more inclined to bite back with the Watcher than with the Highlander - perhaps he felt it was too much like kicking a puppy.

"I don't know how he does it." Mac's tone was a mixture of pride and wonder.

"What?" Joe asked, realising that Mac's thoughts were apparently taking him for a ride too.

"Forgive. Accept things the way he does."

Oh. Well, Joe could empathise with that, the Ancient had certainly put up with all manner of crap thrown his way, ever since the combined efforts of Joseph Dawson, Duncan MacLeod and Kalas had dragged him from his safe anonymity. Sure the old guy had complained - a lot - but they all knew that if it had really upset him then he would never have reappeared after Kalas was jailed. Between the two of them, Joe and Mac had turned their backs on him, made fun of his age, nearly betrayed him, dragged him into challenges, killed his friends and nearly got him killed more than once. And in return he'd saved both their lives on several occasions and just generally been there when they needed him, offering his own unique brand of wisdom, cynicism and humour.

Loyalty, compassion, and a willingness to forgive and accept seemed basic components of the old Immortal's personality, yet Methos always categorically denied any motive beyond self-interest. Joe wasn't sure why Adam hated to be seen to care for anyone but himself, and he knew Mac didn't understand it either. They both held a great deal of admiration for the ancient Immortal - for retaining his humanity if nothing else - but the one time they had spoken of it, not long after Alexa's death, it had made Methos terribly uncomfortable, to the point where, shortly thereafter, he had done one of his infamous disappearing acts. By unspoken agreement, neither of them had ever mentioned it again. Why the old man was so unable to accept that idea or was so often wilfully blind to his own good qualities, Joe had no idea, and he strongly suspected he'd never find out. He gave the only answer he could, "I don't know."

Mac snorted, partly in amusement, partly in agreement and put another pot of coffee on. It was a long-standing mystery 5,000 years in the making and the discussion would keep for another time, there were other things weighing the atmosphere in the loft today.

"Hey, lazy! Get out of bed - what sort of a host are you?" Mac called to the lump on the bed, but his tone was affectionate. There was a stirring under the sheets and then Methos stretched and sat up. He smiled at the two men by the counter, a typically Adam grin, then he got out of bed and wandered into the bathroom, absolutely naked and totally unself-conscious.

It took a long minute after the door had shut and the sound of the shower started before Joe and Mac turned to look at one another.

"Did he do that on purpose?" Joe asked, grinning despite himself.

Duncan smiled back, "You're asking me? I just live with him, I don't know what makes him tick." They shared a quiet chuckle and somehow it eased the weight of impending doom.

*****

Adam's breakfast was waiting for him when he emerged from the bathroom a short while later and padded barefoot across the loft to join them. He was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and was fastening a loose, dark red shirt that looked more like something that would belong to the Highlander. Guiltily, Joe found himself appreciating the old Immortal's appearance on a whole range of levels, only a very few of which had anything to do with achieving some peace of mind after the night's events.

Duncan greeted the ancient with a mug of coffee and a smile; Methos took the proffered cup from his hand and placed it on the counter, before leaning in to kiss his Highland lover good morning.

Given their intimacy the night before, Joe found it both surprising and not, when the kiss moved considerably beyond the realm of a casual good morning. To his own surprise though, he didn't find himself at all embarrassed by the unthinking display between his two best friends - on the contrary, he was finding it distinctly arousing.

Methos' long fingers had curled lightly around the nape of Duncan's neck, twining in the dark hair and playing with the silver clasp that held it back. The Highlander's broad hands had slipped up underneath the hem of the untucked shirt and Joe could see them moving beneath the material, stroking across Methos' back, slowly and possessively. Joe's own fingers tingled with the remembered feel of that soft skin and the smooth muscle beneath. The kiss was slow and deep, a meeting of equals, as tongues did not duel, but danced in movements of affection, of love. It was deeply and utterly erotic.

Eventually, the kiss ended by mutual agreement and Joe, half-hypnotised, only just managed to stop himself from looking down to ascertain their levels of arousal. He shifted a little uncomfortably on the stool, he was half-hard himself just from watching and that was almost more than he could deal with this morning.

Then the two Immortals stepped apart and Methos picked up his now rather cooler coffee and began to drink. Joe found himself marvelling at the ancient Immortal's equanimity; Methos looked absolutely casual and nothing at all like a man who had just, quite enthusiastically, welcomed his lover back after spending the night with a mutual friend. Mac on the other hand looked much happier, not that he had seemed unhappy before, but there had been an anxiousness, masked as well as he could, that had now evaporated. The night's arrangement might not have bothered him in principle, but his heart had still needed the reassurance of his lover's touch afterwards.

"Well, I'll leave you two to your breakfasts and go have a shower," Duncan suggested. "That is, of course, _if_ you haven't used up all the hot water," he fixed Methos with a mock glare.

Methos adopted a look of purely spurious innocence, but since his mouth was full they were spared any verbal protestations. Mac simply shook his head and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving Adam and Joe alone.

*****

For a minute, the only sounds were the shower and breakfast being eaten; Joe tried to concentrate on drinking his coffee, but after a little while he became aware of Adam watching him and he looked up.

"How are you feeling?" Adam's voice was soft and for just a moment they were the same. There was no difference between them; none of this Immortal/Watcher nonsense, no age gap, nothing but two friends, both so painfully aware of what it felt like to lose someone you loved, one with the sharpness of the present and one with the ache of repetition.

"Better - some," Joe sighed, the green eyes that watched him were too understanding and he found himself continuing. "It hurts, you know. I never saw her for twenty years and I never missed her the way I do now. It hurts that I deliberately ignored all those chances to get to know her and when I finally decide to do the right thing, I find all the chances I'd hoped for are gone. It just... It just _hurts_."

Adam was nodding in silent understanding and Joe fought back the urge to burst into tears on the old Immortal again. He took a deep breath and forced himself to ask, "Does it ever get any easier?"

Adam dropped his eyes then, though he must have been expecting the question, and took a deep breath himself. "Yeah, it does - too quickly." He captured Joe's gaze, "But it'll never go away completely."

Joe found himself nodding, held by ancient eyes, not sure whether he was glad to hear those words or not. For a moment longer the look held and then Adam returned to his breakfast; Joe took another moment's contemplation and then he did the same.

They finished breakfast in silence, while Joe sorted through all the thoughts and emotions the last twenty-four hours had brought with them. He knew it was going to take a lot longer to work it all out, but it was a step in the right direction at least.

A couple of minutes later, Joe heard the shower stop and knew Mac would be joining them again shortly. He still had one issue left unresolved and if he didn't find the courage now, it would never be said. "Adam."

Methos turned from where he was rinsing the dishes and watched Joe's face slowly turn pink as he struggled to find the words.

"Um, about last night..." Methos opened his mouth to interrupt, but Joe cut him off, "Thank you."

Methos' smile was pleased, like a child praised for doing something right, and for just an instant Joe felt like some great secret was within his grasp - and then it was gone. "You're welcome, Joseph."

They both turned as the bathroom door opened and Mac came out, looking his usual, impeccable best and Joe decided it was time to go.

"Well guys, I think I should be heading home. I appreciate... everything, but there are things I have to take care of." He addressed it primarily to the Highlander who nodded in understanding and sympathy.

"Would you like a lift back to your place?" Duncan asked, mindful of the fact that Joe had no transport of his own.

Joe considered it briefly, but knew what his answer had to be. "No, I'll get a cab. You've done enough for me already and… I need the time alone."

Mac nodded, no offence taken, and followed Joe across the loft to open the lift gate for him. "If there's anything you need, Joe..." Mac offered as the Watcher got into the lift and turned back to face them.

"Whatever you need..." Methos echoed with only the slightest emphasis and Joe looked at the old Immortal moving to stand by his Highland lover with an easy grace. Joe closed his eyes at the rush of memories those words evoked; the feel of smooth skin beneath his touch, pure pleasure, intense desire and above all the warmth and comfort he had found with the deceptively slight Immortal. He swallowed and nodded, "...I'll call." He jabbed the lift button and with a jerk it shuddered into motion.

As he rode the lift down, Joe caught a last glimpse of his friends; Methos leaning into Duncan as the Highlander wrapped an arm around the old Immortal's shoulders - not a possessive gesture at all, more... protective, a guardianship. There was something supremely comforting in the knowledge that the two of them were now together, in love.

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, arguably the greatest swordsman the Game had ever seen, and Methos, the eldest and, without a doubt, best survivor. If they had any say in the matter at all, then in the end there would be only two and Joe found that that simple truth did as much to restore his faith in life as anything else the pair had done.

Life was ephemeral and unfair, but there were some things a person could always count on and Joe Dawson felt blessed to know two of them.

 

FIN


End file.
